The Sentimental Bind
by ecos
Summary: Sherlock and Irene continue to play out the grand game. This story picks up where "A Scandal in Belgravia" left us.
1. Chapter 1

The text sent, the alert sounded. Shocked, I looked at my executioner. Ice blue eyes, unlike anyone else's, stared at me in mild amusement. The rest happened quickly. Of the five men in the secluded lot, he disposed of three while I handled the remaining two. He had not included his brother in the arrangements. I did not need to ask because there were no heavy handed actions. No helicopters or team of operatives. In fact, after we exited the lot I saw no co-conspirators. I had no idea how he had managed to infiltrate the cell. The extraction was neat, small, and uncomplicated. I would be dead to all governments, and—more importantly—to Moriarty. Blood sampled, finger prints matched, everything confirmed. Sherlock related all of this to me as we quietly passed through predawn streets. I did not ask for details; it wasn't necessary. The terrorist group would happily play along to avoid backlash from Moriarty. The government willingly believed what they had seen on film, even if the film was low grade camera phone stock. After all, the evidence presented _was_ convincing. Sherlock's contacts did not know my identity and would not ask. The only person in the world that would know Irene Adler survived would be the one person I could believe would keep that secret at any cost, even if it was simply to spite Moriarty.

As we entered a house via a rear door facing a closed ally, a woman with foggy eyes and sharp features spoke a few words and pointed to the rear wall. Into the kitchen and around the corner we slipped, then down into a tiny basement apartment equipped with a small couch, rudimentary shower, and sleeping quarters. I did not speak; I had not spoken since I requested my phone for one last text before the execution. He sat me down. With the gentlest of touches he removed the hijab from my head and shoulders, inspecting the myriad of bruises left by the brutal treatment of my captors with obvious disapproval.

"Good morning, Miss Adler." He rumbled. "Are you alright?"

I couldn't help myself. I laughed. Relief and adrenaline vied in a heady mixture, and I was giddy. "I've had worse, Mr. Holmes, and I've certainly given better." He smirked. Then something odd happened to me. I couldn't stop laughing. I was shaking with it. I was crying with it. It hurt to breath. I began to panic, a cold sweat covered me.

I noticed his hands first, long strong fingers gripping my shoulders firmly, but not painfully. Fantastic hands I thought in some sane part of my brain. Musician's hands-callused but smooth and pliable. I could make those hands do such things. They forced my focus away from myself, from my panic.

"Look at me," that distinct baritone demanded, closer this time. I found his eyes. They were not the normal ice blue, but something deeper. "You are safe. Breathe with me, now. I don't have a paper bag; you've got to bring yourself out of it."

"Safe?" I wheezed hearing the hysteria in my own voice and hating it. I shook my head. Safety is the illusion that comforted the weak minded. There is no such thing as safety. That's what I would have said had I the faculty of speech. Instead I wheezed another laugh. I tried anger, my constant companion, to combat the panic attack. I found it lacked the strength to defeat this overwhelming foe. I shut my eyes breaking the contact that was suddenly too vulnerable.

"Outsmarting yourself again," he murmured. "Yes, you are right, there is no safety. I should not try pretty lies on a superior mind. Alright then, you are as safe as I can make you and if your mind is not convinced, we can try convincing your body."

The part of my brain not screaming for oxygen raised an eyebrow and purred "Indeed, Mr. Holmes," but it had no control. The great detective simply pulled me against his chest and locked his arms around me, occasionally running his hands up and down my arms. It was the most clinical hug I had ever received, but it worked. Slowly my breathing became even, the laughter subsided and I began to realize Sherlock had relaxed into the physical contact. I didn't move. I was fascinated. He was almost unguarded. He was even crooning something low and indistinct. I could hear his heart. I was certain that was not a mistake.

He must have noticed I was conscious of his actions; he stiffened and pulled away. He turned and offered me a bottle of water. I took it and drank three large swallows before forcing myself to slow down.

"A shower perhaps, Miss Adler? It's good for the delicate nerves. It does not do for a woman to reek of dungeon and sweat. Though you may be accustomed to that sort of thing, I assure you I am not." He turned away and strolled up the stairs, the picture of nonchalance.

"Mr. Holmes, you should mind yourself. Someone might accuse you of sentiment." This warranted a chuckle from him as he disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

Alone, I admitted my desperate need for a shower. I stripped my ruined clothes and loosed my bedraggled hair. The bathroom was an essentials only affair. I showered and scrubbed the sweat and sand grit away. The bathroom was blessedly stocked with shampoo, soap, and on the sink—toothbrush and toothpaste. Miracles never ceased. It was bliss. I looked at my reflection. I was tired and sunbaked. The corners of my mouth and eyes belied my dehydrated state. Even my nails were torn and chipped, not to mention I still looked a bit wild around the eyes. I looked unkempt and vulnerable.

There was nothing to be done, though, so I wrapped my hair in a towel and went to retrieve my clothes. I wanted to burn them, but I needed something to wear. There was a scrub basin, maybe I could salvage a piece or two and leave the rest. I picked up the hijab and wound the long yards around myself into a makeshift dress.

Sherlock came down the stairs with a bowl of lamb stew and several pieces of na'an. He sat it before me and made a motion for me to eat. Then he fetched me more water.

"Have dinner with me?" I asked. He hesitated.

"In about 20 minutes you are going to come down from your adrenaline rush and sleep for several hours. You need to eat, and you need to drink" He set the bottle of water down in front of me, but then, in a partial concession, sat down opposite me on a high backed chair. It seemed an odd piece of furniture for this place, but perfect for Sherlock. He steepled his hands and gazed meaningfully at the meal before me. I gave him my best wry look before I raised the spoon to my lips.

"Are we to make small talk then?" He sounded petulant. "I've kept track of your activities rather closely, so I believe we can skip that part. I do applaud you on your particularly intriguing exploits in Biratnagar. It took me two hours to surmise the bones of it, then a day to fill in the details. Very thorough. Impeccable work."

I smiled with genuine pleasure. I had bought myself another month with that scheme. Sherlock _had_ been watching me somehow. I had serious questions for him, but now was not the time.

"Do you have any new cases that are worth a mention? A good puzzle? That might take my mind of the...recent unpleasantness" I curved my lips into a sardonic smile.

He brought his eyes back to mine. There was a characteristically long pause. "Are you up for that kind of mental strain? I wouldn't want to overtire such a delicate mind."

I gave him a cool look. He was trying to irk me, trying to pull me into our usual games. "Well, Mr. Holmes, since we've come to this _quaint_ spot, I have plotted three escapes routes and planned a dozen new lives for myself. I have solved the mystery of our hostess-she's high on an opioid as we speak, won't remember much of anything tomorrow-very convenient. Perhaps she'll overdose; then our worries will truly be over." I frowned, knowing he would have allowed her just enough to put her into a stupor.

"Admirable for less than half an hour. There are, however, five escape routes," he said in mild admonishment, "provided you are not squeamish about tight places and rodents." He rose and stalked to the table, looking for something to distract his attention.

"Oh?" I paused, my spoon mid dip. "Perhaps my mental faculties are a bit strained." I rose, placing my half eaten stew aside. "Would a physical activity be a preferable substitute?" I asked in a low murmur. I moved to stand in front of him and placed one hand carefully on his chest, at the second button below his casually unclasped collar.

He didn't pull away, but slid his hand to mine, as he had done months ago. He gently caressed my wrist then lifted my head so that I looked at him. Meeting his eyes was a study of my own careful dissection, just as before, but there was something beyond intrigue there now. I felt every hair stand on end and every nerve prickle. How alike to fear this felt—and how unlike resignation. I knew my pulse raced and my pupils dilated. I could not feel his pulse, but I could see his eyes.

"Testing me again?" My voice darkened. His hand had not left my wrist, though he had ample time to record my pulse twice. "Do you often repeat such experiments?"

He leaned into my ear so close I felt the vibration of his half whispered baritone, "I am a careful scientist, Miss Adler. I always test my hypothesis." His words disturbed the half-dry hair on my neck. "I am _very_ thorough." I caught my breath. That wasn't right. I never did such things. I was not the trembling type.

I found my anger, so absent earlier, and brought it to bear. The hand at his chest twisted into a fist clinching his shirt while the other shot out in tandem with my leg. I grabbed him above the elbow and buckled his knee simultaneously, swinging him to the carpeted floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Quick as a thought he swept my feet from under me, but I rolled and positioned my knees just outside his shoulders holding him down. He stilled when I produced the shard of sharp plastic and held it to his throat.

"Mmm, yes, the toothbrush. The plastic here is far too brittle for safety." He said with no trace of fear, looking steadily into my eyes.

"You didn't think I would remain weaponless?" I said leaning harder onto his arms. "Do you think so little of me?"

"No, quite the contrary, I know you are never weaponless," he said eyes sliding down my body. "So ask." Of course he knew I had questions; he was Sherlock Holmes.

"I know the how; you tracked me, though the exact details are a bit vague. That phone is the only item I've kept with me through everything. I know who. What and where seem obvious. It is the why and the when that have me puzzled." I slapped him firmly with a flat hand. Then I bent forward, kissing him on the cheek and licking a drop of blood from his neck where the shank had nicked him. "So tell me, why and when? You could have found me at any time; you could have offered your protection the night we parted."

His head still turned to the side from the force of the slap. "Why, Miss Adler?" He grunted and clicked his tongue at me. "Why and when are at the heart of the matter, indeed."

Then I was roughly hurled onto my back. He had taken advantage of the off balanced position I had taken when I leaned down, neatly and forcefully turning the tables with simple leverage. He settled himself onto my hips tucking his toes behind my knees and placing his forearms neatly on my arms. I could not move.

"I'll give you a few small suggestions and a hint. If you are not willing to use a weapon, don't show it. You know this," a gesture to my shank pinned harmlessly in my hand, "is not likely to inflict more than a surface wound at the throat. Threaten the eyes. Don't go in for dramatics, they usually complicate matters more than necessary. They breed mistakes. On that point, don't start a physical altercation if one is not absolutely necessary and _never_ forsake your point of leverage." He emphasized this point with a swift squeeze of his legs. "You are not wrong about the cell phone, by the way; it was involved. Lastly," something like passion entered his voice, "I did not offer you my protection because you had not earned it, and I had little to offer. Moriarty considers me his greatest prey, and you would be only too sweet as a hostage or a body to parade in front of me. Until now, there was no way to protect you any further than you were protecting yourself. I do not trust you enough to keep you at Baker Street and you would be too visible a target. I believed you could take care of yourself for a few months." He looked at me without expression, but he had given me a high praise in his estimation. He had also admitted I mattered to him. "Additionally, I wanted you to suffer for what you had done. Suffering is an acceptable punishment, but I had no wish for you to die. I imagine you understand a certain pleasure comes from punishment."

"And does it," I asked, trying to keep my voice at a calm purr, though being restrained made me panic. "Does my punishment bring you pleasure?" I used the limited motion available in my hips to press against him. I raised both eyebrows in mock surprise, to mask my very real elation. "It does. I don't need your pulse for that."

"Excellent deduction. I will admit that you intrigue and arouse me, Miss Adler," his voice more dusky than before.

"I concede your points. I have certainly made several decisions that, in hindsight, were not entirely sound," I said completely relaxing and requesting release without asking aloud. I thought he might say something more, but he rose gracefully. I offered him my shard of plastic. He laughed and shook his head, smiling in obvious approval. I twined it into my hair hiding it again, along with the extra I had managed to make. My makeshift dress had come loose in the shuffle, and as I stood I let it fall. He took me in again. Hawkish eyes watching my movements, then he stalked toward me. He bent and kissed me, and I kissed back. Nothing gentle, nothing sweet. Animal and yet somehow analytical. I subtly nudged him toward the bed. He sat and I planted myself in his lap, he wasn't using his hands instead exploring the delicate function, action, reactions of the mouth, the tongue, the teeth-the power of a breath.

My hands were not idle, however. I unbuttoned the neat line of buttons on the dark shirt he was wearing, pulling it from his trousers. Suddenly he stopped as I began to wind his purloined belt around his wrists. "No," he said, "I've seen your work. I am not interested in that."

I laughed, but didn't stop. "Give it a chance, you'll like it." I was on my back again before the words had fully passed my lips.

"I am not one of your dalliances, Irene Adler." He spoke with a hard edge, "I'm certainly no slave to desire, mine or yours."

"I don't do this any other way," I said matching steel for steel. I brought my free leg up the side of his body as I arched against him. No response, no moan or shift or tremble. I moved to flip him and found I couldn't.

"Leverage," he rumbled. "Interesting you should use it so well politically but not grasp the physical concept." A pause. He looked down at me. "No... You know the concept." His eyes were sharply focused but he wasn't looking _at _me. He pushed up from the bed leaving me panting.

"Would you like another drink of water?" He asked, as though we had been strolling through the park. I moved toward the edge of the bed, but he shook his head, buttoning his shirt. "I believe, you've had quite enough excitement for one day. You have muscle fatigue and you'll incapable of traveling if you don't sleep."

I wanted to reply but things were becoming foggy, my brain refused to supply me with an appropriate comeback.

"You drugged me?"

"It would only be fair; turn-about and all that," he made a swift negating gesture, "but no, I didn't. I warned that you would experience this. They must have mixed with something that delayed the Of course, you spiked your adrenaline again. The reaction was delayed but the crash will be harder. I'm fairly certain your captors dosed you heavily with a benzodiazepine derivative. Originally I thought sodium thiopental but as it is a barbituate and you've kept down the stew, I must conclude the former is the culprit."

"Sodium pentothal, is truth serum," said groggily, "It's used sometimes in the business. Terrible side effects though." My speech was slurring.

"Yes, benzo has a few side effects as well. It's incredibly foolish to consider it 'truth serum'; it creates hallucinations without proper background and psychological training you could never discern fact from nightmare." He frowned at me. "Stop resisting it, you'll cause a very bad reaction. I will leave if it would help you to relax."

I started to nod; I never allowed anyone in the room with me as I slept, not even Kate. Then I remembered where I was and with whom. I knew that I felt safer with Sherlock Holmes in the room than I did with him out of it. That was a new experience.

"Wait. Stay."

He turned carefully and looked into my eyes again. I couldn't keep them open-I relaxed. A moment later, I felt myself being re-positioned and I heard him mutter, "Such a puzzle." Then, as he drew away, I reached for him, but I couldn't control my movement. He must have seen my flailing motion. The last thing I felt was his hand gently taking my own.


End file.
